


Muscle Memory

by rupeecoloredhair



Category: overwatch
Genre: Angst, Memories, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 13:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11291355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rupeecoloredhair/pseuds/rupeecoloredhair
Summary: The ability to reproduce a particular movement without conscious thought, acquired as a result of frequent repetition of that movement is known as muscle memory.





	Muscle Memory

Memories were rare. When they did come, they were snippets. Flashes of colors and shapes, sometimes voices, never anything substantial. She never dwelled on them as they were distractions. Talon scientists said that they were a small side effect to her rigorous training and that they should go away as time went on.  


“Focus, Widowmaker.” Reaper's gravelly voice snapped Widow away from the colors. One shot, one kill, no thoughts needed.  


“I am,” she answered harsher than she had meant to but that doesn’t matter. Effortlessly, she scoped in on the straggling targets and picked them off so Reaper could focus on his own fight.  


The colors came back, swimming in the back of her mind. As much as she tried to not focus on it, they kept creeping back. More picks, silent kills, Reaper motioned for her to move in. Her grapple locked on to the next building and she flew across the gap gracefully, landing with almost no sound. She followed Reaper a few paces behind as he moved forward with other Talon agents. Her eyes scanned the roofs for an enemy sniper but there were none to be found.  


She set up above the group. Sombra was absent for this mission so they had to go through the hard way. Reaper stepped aside as some of the agents began to batter the door down. Lying flat, she scoped in on the door. One, two, the third one cracked the door and Reaper went through. It took less than a minute before the doors opened and Talon went through.  


The colors again. They were warm, familiar. Widow scowled and activated her visor. A miss. She saw Reaper glance at her from the fight as she fired again. The colors were obscuring her targets but she still shot well. Just not well enough.  


The fight did not last long, it wasn’t meant to. Holstering her gun she jumped down to join the team as the dropship lowered. The agents were all chattering about the fight, a dull noise that rang in her ears. She walked to her usual spot in the back of the ship when someone grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. Reaper.  


“What was that, Widow?” He growled. “You were off all mission.”  


“It was nothing,” she snapped.  


Something threw off your aim, Widow, what was it?”  


“A smudge on my scope,” she lied, wanting Reaper to drop the subject. “An easy fix, I’ll clean it before the next mission.” She could tell Reaper didn’t believe her. The state he was in, his emotions showed easily. The edges of his body trailed into nothingness, wisps of smoke that showed aggravation. Still, he dropped it. Walking off to leave Widow to find a seat as the shuttle took off, she saw him glance at her again before he left to tell HQ they were successful.  


Gun next to her, Widow let the din of chatter echo in her head. The colors were gone but something was still there. It kept dragging the colors back, forcing her to think on things she didn’t know. She barely noticed when they landed, so stuck in her own head she didn’t register that the others were getting up to leave. She followed quickly, ignoring everyone as she usually did.  


Her room was quiet and what she needed. Familiarity. Things she knew. Placing her gun on the desk, Widow sat in the chair. Cleaning her gun after every mission was something of a routine that she could do through memory alone now.  


She let the colors come back as she worked, knowing from the past that it was better to let them come and go on their own than to push them away. So she worked through memory as the colors tugged at her mind. Deep browns and a bright red, rich colors that darkened the room. A bright white shone through it all, illuminating wherever it touched.  


Widow began to hum. The light followed the slow rhythm. Her hands stilled on their work as Widow continued to hum. She closed her eyes and watched the colors. She felt ribbon on her skin, almost cradling her. It felt familiar. Her feet felt weightless, moving over nothing. The song continued, slow and graceful. The lights followed her feet, around and around.  


Amélie was a dancer. Amélie loved feeling the stage beneath her feet. Dances rehearsed over hours and days and weeks coming to light under the stage lights. Her costumes fit so gracefully, floating with her across the stage. Music filled her ears with a warm intimacy that came with hearing it over and over again, she’d never forget these songs. Her songs. The crowd hushed into a million eyes like stars that watched her every move. She moved like water, passionate yet smooth no one move too sharp. Fluid. It felt as it the music was coming from her arms as she spread them, legs carrying her over the stage. Weightless.  


Widowmaker opened her eyes with a start. She was at Talon. She stood in the middle of her room, no music, no lights, no stage, no Amélie. Her arms were over her head, she pulled them back to her. She lowered herself from her toes and slowly moved to her chair.  


Widow had never learned to dance.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that Widow isn't that far gone as the others think. All she needs is a little push and I can't help but wonder if perhaps Amélie still loves to dance :)


End file.
